


Fob Mafia au (working title)

by postysbitch



Category: America's Suitehearts - Fall Out Boy (Music Video), Fall Out Boy, Panic! at the Disco
Genre: Agent pete, Alternate Universe, M/M, Mafia AU, Mob Boss Patrick Stump, No Fall Out Boy, So is Joe, andy as well, dectective pete, dominate pete, intern brendon, oOps don’t judge, patrick is a mob boss, scary patrick Stump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-15
Updated: 2017-10-15
Packaged: 2019-01-17 14:34:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,356
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12367824
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/postysbitch/pseuds/postysbitch
Summary: “S-so.. do you have a case you’re working on?” He asked, timidly.Pete sighed and nodded.“I have to find the three mafia leaders that dominate Chicago.”“Holy shit.”“Holy shit, indeed.”





	Fob Mafia au (working title)

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This is only a rough draft of a full length, multichaptered fic I want to write on this topic! I hope you enjoy what I’m teasing so far. ;)

“I just.. I don’t understand,” Pete griped, teeth grinding together as his boss annoyingly waved a hand, motioning for him to settle back into his seat. 

“Pete, look, I like you,” he began. “So I’m going to tell you the truth. You’re the best on the team, so it’s you who has to do the job, okay?”

Pete hesitated, a flush blooming under his skin. Best. “It doesn’t matter, I shouldn’t have to— I can’t do a job on my own. I need agents, researchers–“

“We both know you’ve done plenty of research on these cases, Pete.”

He squared his jaw in remark, eyes narrowing at the truth. So what if this ate at him every day for the last ten years? A man was going to do some research at some point. “Either way–“

“Pete,” the boss interrupted, “just do your job. You know where to go and what to look for. If you get any solid information, I’ll make sure you get a team for a full investigation. Sound good?” 

It did, it sounded really good. But there was no way on God’s green earth was Pete going to give his stupid boss the satisfaction. 

“Whatever.” 

He stood up and swung past his open door, startling the secretary. Pete strode into the elevator, fuming. A hand shoved itself into his vision and he automatically held the doors open. 

A young man with red rimed glasses and floppy brown hair grinned up at him, and Pete recognized him as Brendon Urie, a temp working on the second floor. “Hey, Brendon, right?” 

He nodded, lips still stretched into a goofy smile. “Yeah, yes, yeah. Brendon. You’re Pete.”

“Uh, yeah, I am.”

Brendon blushed, eyes dropping to where his thumbs were fumbling with the leather handle of his worn briefcase. “That sounded weird. Sorry, it’s just everyone knows you. You got the lead clues on about every case since you started at Fallout,” he explained, somehow all in one breathe. Pete huffed a laugh, resisting the urge to roll his eyes at the statement.

“Thanks, I guess. I don’t think so, it’s really a team effort kind of thing.” 

“Oh yes, definitely,” Brendon immediately agreed, head bobbing wildly. 

They stood in silence for a few more seconds before the younger cleared his throat.

“S-so.. do you have a case you’re working on?” He asked, timidly. 

Pete sighed and nodded.

“I have to find the three mafia leaders that dominate Chicago.”

“Holy shit.”

“Holy shit, indeed.”

—— 

“So let me get this straight,” Pete deadpanned, dipping a single brow low. “You want to withhold information from a federal agent? Do you really think that’s a good idea?” 

The man behind the desk floundered, eyes traveling to and fro across the gun shop. It was the nineteenth shop Pete had stopped by to hassle with the owner, but he was the first to show any signs of suspicion. 

“I-I have my rights,” he said finally.

“Yeah,” Pete agreed, nodding. “You do. But that just means I’ll come back here with more agents and a warrant and I’ll be able to have a look see into everything you’re hiding instead of a simple chat, right now.” 

The man’s eyes bulged out of their sockets and a single drop of sweat made its way down his hairline. “I think- think I-I can reconsider.” 

A few minutes later, Pete sat in a folding chair, level with the squirming man awkwardly in front of him. He’d been both an agent and detective for the FBI for over a decade, he knew a thing or two about intimidation. With the serious stare and poker face, he knew the man would crack like an eggshell. 

“So—“

“I cant,” he blurted out. 

Pete raised a brow. “Can’t, what, exactly?”

“I’m not supposed to be talking to you. I can’t. They’re gonna kill me, please, just leave. I can give you money, I ca–“

“Are you trying to bribe me?”

“Agent!” He whimpered out, tears pooling in his eyes. “You don’t understand! If I say anything else I’m going to be killed, I—“

“Hey,” Pete said gently, drawing an air of comfort to the gun shop owner. “We have protection. We can keep you safe from anyone, so you can stay breathing and kicking as long as you stay with me here, okay? We will keep you safe. I just want a little bit of information, okay, sir?”

He took a deep breathe, swallowing around nothing. “Y-yeah,” he stuttered out. “What do you want to know?”

“Who exactly are you working for you? What ‘work’ are you doing?” Pete began, clicking on his recorder. 

“I-I take in silencers. And I, um, I order more than I put into the store, and give them to my boss. He- He works, or is, the mob.”

“Do you not know?”

“I did what I was told to do, okay? They gave me money and threatened my family.”

“I understand. The mob, mafia, you mean?”

“Y-yes,” he said in a whisper.

“It’s okay, sir. Look, I can take you to my building, we can talk where you know they won’t get you, does that sound good?”

He nodded weakly. 

Pete escorted the man to his vehicle, and they drove in a blanket of tense silence, and he had to discreetly lock the doors when he saw how many times the man’s eyes drifted to the handle. The ride went by slowly, Chicago seemingly intent on keeping her mafia safe and giving them every traffic jam and red light possible. After what seemed like an eternity of Pete wondering if the man’s sweat would make his dark leather seats smell, they arrived at the FBI agency. A flash of his badge here and a nod at the guard there, then they were on their way up to Pete’s office. 

He passed by Brendon, who was getting copies from the copy machine, and saw the boy’s eyes widen to the size of dinner plates and he actually had to suppress a small smile. 

Once settled, Pete lowered the man into the comfortable black office chair and sat behind his desk, turning on his recorder once more. 

“Tell me everything you know.”

———

The soft click vibrated beneath Pete’s thumb as he flicked off his recorder, satisfied with over two hours worth of information on one of the biggest mobs in Chicago. One of the dark trio. He smirked. 

“I’m letting officers know to set you up a safe house, okay? You told us a lot of valuable information, and it’s completely understandable to be worried,” he added, glancing past his computer screen to the sickly pale man slumped in front of him. He nodded. 

“You were illegally helping criminals, though–“ the man sat upright instantly, color rising in his face– “but considering the circumstances, I’m sure with a word from me we can get you off scot free,” Pete finished, pleased at seeing the relaxed expression he was rewarded with.

He pressed the OK option on his screen. “Okay, it’s done. You’re safe now, okay?”

———

“Multiple stab wounds, missing organs, and I’m pretty sure there’s more,” the doctor said disappointedly, both her eyes and Pete’s glued on the gun shop owner lying dead between them. “We’d need an autopsy to be completely sure.” 

“Ah, yeah, yeah, I’m sure. Thank you,” he added absentmindedly, eyes seemingly frozen onto the terrified expression on the corpse’s face. 

You’re safe now, okay? What a load of bullshit. 

“Agent,” the doctor repeated, taking Pete’s attention again. “There was this in place of his tongue.” She held out a plastic bag and a pair of gloves. 

He slid on the gloves and opened the bag after a quick murmur of thanks, taking in the note. 

In printed letters was:

WENTZ, STAY OUT OF OUR BUSINESS. WE CAN DO SO MUCH MORE. DON’T BE NOSEY. 

And finally, a red stamp of a signature reading Mr. Benzedrine. 

Pete’s blood ran cold. 

The leader of one of the most dangerous mafias in Chicago, maybe the world, knew who he was. 

And he wanted him to leave him the fuck alone. 

“Fuck,” Pete rasped out.

**Author's Note:**

> PLEASE READ.  
> I really hoped you liked it! As I said earlier, this is merely a rough draft and NOT a final product! If you are into this AU and would actually read it if I published a full story, please comment below your thoughts! Should I write it into a full fic? Should it be Peterick? Let me know! Thank you so much for taking the time to do so! Xx


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